God does not nurture our faith so that we can stay within safe boundaries.

At my house, just outside the window of our bathroom, grows a thin tree. It’s small and at first sight appears to be nothing more than a glorified bush. But perhaps because of its simple nature, this tree provides the perfect place to build a structure of support: a nest. For some reason birds love this tree; they love to make it their home. Occasionally, I see the birds at work. They carefully weave together twigs, bits of trash and other plants in anticipation of new birth.

When I came home from college last May, I saw that the nest was not only constructed but was full. Inside several tiny eggs, baby robins were resting safely under a parent’s wings, waiting to burst from their shells into the bright but intimidating light of new life.

I grew up in a sturdy nest and am grateful for that stability. In a fractured world, I was born into a loving, intact family. I was born into the church—a body of people who sought the face of God together in worship, community and acts of justice. I was born into a tradition—named Mayeken for a 16th-century Anabaptist martyr, I carry a story of fierce faith in my name.

This nest allows me to relate to Timothy, the wide-eyed, budding pastor whom Paul addresses in his letter. It seems Timothy’s heritage was also one of great faith. Timothy not only traveled with and learned from the apostle Paul but was a third-generation Christian. He grew up in a sturdy nest. Paul praises God for the faith that lived in Timothy’s grandmother Lois, his mother Eunice and that now resides in Timothy. And this is praiseworthy.

How wonderful for families to become an instrument of God! How much joy Lois and Eunice must have felt to be able to share in the good news with Timothy, to worship together as another family—that of Christ! How much joy God must feel to see different generations worshiping together through corporate and individual expressions of faith!

God’s joy lives in the questions generations continually ask. With energy and excitement God’s people wonder, How can we pass on the words of faith to which we’ve been entrusted? How will we nurture the next generation? These are dynamic questions to which Paul’s second letter to Timothy may offer some guidance.

Most importantly, Paul does not want us to forget who is the mama bird, the master weaver and the divine planner of this nest: God. In this metaphor, it’s easy for me to place my parents in the role of mother or father bird. It seems natural; they are the most physical representation for me of love, comfort, stability and Christ followers. But really, my parents, the church, my experiences are all twigs and materials; they surround me with protection and the example of a sturdy faith, but ultimately it is God who has pieced together and holds together these things in my life. God is the continuity that carries through generations. The grace we receive is not a sign of our parents’ faithfulness but the faithfulness of Jesus Christ even to the cross.

Paul makes this clear: We do not choose Christ by default. We do not have faith unless it is our own. Paul writes to Timothy, grateful for the example of faith modeled by the women in his life but even more thankful for Timothy’s ownership of that faith. In his letter to Timothy, Paul writes, “I am reminded of your sincere faith.” This faith is Timothy’s, not his grandmother’s or his mother’s. Paul encourages Timothy to stand firm in this conviction, to say unashamedly that this faith, the foolishness of the cross, is his own.

How does this appropriation of faith happen? I was born into a nest that proclaimed a strong faith in Jesus Christ, but I was not born into faith. That birth happened later. I liken my story of ownership to that of a baby bird upon hatching. Inside the shell of my safe life, I was warm, comfortable and naive. Outside was not very comfortable.

During my freshman year of high school one of my close friends was diagnosed with cancer. For the next two years she went through treatments of chemotherapy and radiation, swinging between joyous periods of remission and the dreaded discoveries of yet another tumor. I was 16 on March 1, 2005, when, gathered together with classmates, I heard that she was dead.

This experience brought an intense anger that is still hard to articulate. It was more than sorrow—I was angry with God. I wanted nothing to do with God. When I followed my parents to church, I wondered, Why pray? My pain was raw and my skepticism deep.

But slowly God nursed me back to life. Slowly and tenderly God tended my wounds, despite my resistance. It was only then, after I had known darkness, that I could appreciate the Light. It was only after knowing what it was to be without God that I could appreciate the presence of God. It was then that my faith began to become my own.

My introduction to suffering and the subsequent act of owning my faith is significant in my spiritual journey. When asked to share a reflection from my spiritual journey, this is usually the one I tell. But I cannot live in reflections; Paul reminds us there is much more after ownership.

A few weeks after first taking notice of the eggs outside our window, I was surprised to find that the nest was full of life. Little robins sat eagerly, continually focused upward, waiting for a parent to drop a bit of sustenance into their tiny beaks. I saw this feeding take place, and it was incredible. To see the life and growth of what had just broken free from its shell—it’s a small splendor you want to share with others. But in a few more weeks, again to my surprise, the nest was empty. I had almost forgotten that a bird’s purpose is to fly. Although grounded at times, they aren’t meant to stay in the nest.

Paul says that God not only saves us but calls us to a holy calling. We are called not only to own the great news of Christ Jesus but to live by and testify to the reason for our hope. God does not nurture our faith so that we can stay within safe boundaries. No, God calls each of us to something dangerously holy and equips us for that purpose.

Paul knew this all too well. He knew it in his own calling—he was “an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God” (2 Timothy 1:1). God’s will led Paul to travel, preach and suffer for the sake of one very-much-alive Jesus Christ. Paul saw that same call alive in Timothy, and he says we are all called by the power of God. Paul reminds Timothy and us to “fan into flame” or “rekindle the gift of God” within us (2 Timothy 1:6).

Imagine that. The power of God plus us plus fire—the prospect sounds dangerous and unsettling. But maybe that is how it is supposed to be. To rekindle a fire we need to disturb and disrupt the coals. Maybe we need to be unsettled to enliven the gifts within us. In fact, Paul promises we will be uncomfortable; we will suffer. It takes courage to disrupt our comfortable kindling. It takes courage to fan into flame our gifts when we know that God’s will is involved. It is not a safe calling.

But, says Paul, “God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline” (1:7). We are not ashamed of the fire we carry but are called to lovingly tend it and offer its blazing power and comforting warmth to others.

For me, it is much easier to be a coward and stay within the nest where it’s safe. Within the nest—my family, friends and church—sharing and nurturing faith seems easy. But outside that fortress? Beyond the nest where I need to take risks to proclaim my faith in Christ Jesus? Where I risk being rejected, being labeled and degraded by intellectuals as naive or lumped together with a mainstream and political form of Christianity? That’s much scarier. Fortunately, God equips us with an alternative to a spirit of cowardice: the Spirit of power, love and a sound mind.

Of what then, do we have to be afraid? Death, our greatest enemy? Not even death, says Paul. Because our Savior Christ Jesus abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel. Because God’s history is one of unending provisions and faithfulness, we have no reason to be ashamed of our faith, only our cowardice. That’s why this verse is so wonderfully disturbing. We are not called to be cowards. What I often mistake for arrogance in Paul’s writings may simply be an unashamed and unabashed testimony to the one in whom Paul has put his trust and life.

Unfortunately, it is not only fear that can keep us from flying. If we want to fly perfectly on the first try, it’s hard to leave the nest. For me it’s always tempting to get caught up in self-perfection instead of realizing that I am gradually being perfected by God. Instead of soaring with trust on the wild winds of grace, I choose to be tied down by self-inflicted toil toward unattainable sinlessness.

Paul reminds us that this attempt is fruitless. We were saved and called by God, “not according to our works but according to God’s own purpose and grace” (1:9). God does not ask us to earn the grace we have received, just to not be ashamed of it. And how can we keep it a secret? If we are integrated in Christ, if we fan into flame the gifts of the Spirit, we cannot help but share the Good News with others. We cannot help but pass on the faith. We have chosen Christ, who gives us this irresistible longing—we cannot help but follow him. We cannot help but leave the safety of our own nests to build up others.

We still rejoice and give thanks for the nest—for the sound teachings that nurture us through faith and love in Christ Jesus. We need the nest, but the nest is not our treasure. Christ is our good treasure. God has entrusted us with the Good News and told us to guard it. But to guard the gospel does not mean to bury it like some unused talent. We guard it by courageously spreading the deep joy of this treasure. We protect it by entrusting it to others who are willing to make it their own. We guard it as a sacred calling to pass on our heritage of faith.

Our very lives attest to this heritage because what we guard also guards us and our actions. We not only seek to pass on but to live by God’s presence in Scripture, tradition, innovation, silence and each other. With the help of the Holy Spirit living in us, we are equipped to live out this calling. We can pass on the faith and be courageous. We can move beyond the safety of our nests to come proudly to God’s table, confessing that our faith is our own. We come secure in the bone-deep knowledge that the wind that carries us—although wild and unpredictable—is God’s own Spirit of self-discipline, power and love. Praise be to God.